


The Companion

by blacktofade



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Cooking, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, M/M, Prostitution, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart, a Kingsman Companion, knocks on Eggsy's door and Eggsy finds out that he's been given a night with a fancy escort as a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Companion

**Author's Note:**

> We all know Eggsy would make the best rent boy, but Harry as a fancy escort gives me so many feelings. As such, I vomited this out and have zero regrets [aggressively throws confetti].

Eggsy’s halfway through a movie on Netflix when there’s a knock on the door. He’s not expecting anyone—he’s not even wearing a shirt for fuck’s sake. His mum and Daisy are spending the night with his grandma and he’s the only one around for the whole weekend. He’s got popcorn kernels stuck to his chest and he hasn’t combed his hair all day.

He brushes himself off and shuffles his way across the flat, taking a moment to scratch his arse before he pulls the door open and blinks. He’s not expecting the smartly-dressed man standing outside, an umbrella hooked on one arm. Eggsy glances behind the man suspiciously and then meets his steady gaze.

“Can I help you?” he asks and the corner of the man’s mouth curls up in what could pass as a smile.

“Are you Eggsy Unwin?” he asks, though he says the word _Eggsy_ like he doesn’t actually believe it’s a name.

Eggsy narrows his eyes and sucks his teeth.

“Don’t know,” he says. “Depends who’s asking.”

“The name’s Harry Hart,” the man—Harry—says, which doesn’t mean a thing to Eggsy.

“You the fuzz? ‘Cause if so, there ain’t no one around here named Eggsy.”

“And if I’m not?” Harry asks. “Would you happen to be Eggsy then?”

“Look, all I want to know is who you are,” Eggsy says earnestly because the sooner the conversation ends, the sooner he can get back to _Top Gun_.

Harry reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a business card that he holds out for Eggsy to take. After a moment of hesitation, Eggsy does exactly that, finding Harry’s full name and the title _Kingsman Companion_.

“I’m a Kingsman Companion,” Harry tells him as though he can’t read. “Were you not the one to book an appointment with me?”

“Book an appointment?” Eggsy asks, staring down at the card, hoping for an answer, which he receives in the form of a lightbulb moment. “The fuck? You’re like a _rent boy_?”

He trails his gaze down Harry’s body because there’s _no way_ the guy fucks people for a living, but Harry’s face is solemn and not at all joking when he says, “I prefer the term _companion_.”

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy swears, before grabbing Harry’s arm and tugging him into the flat. “The neighbours cannot fucking hear this. Jesus Christ.”

Eggsy drops the business card in favour of pulling at his own hair and staring at Harry in shock.

“The woman from 119K _was_ watching from her window,” Harry says calmly as though he hasn’t just been dragged inside someone’s home. Maybe that’s normal for him—Eggsy doesn’t know. What he does know is that _this can’t be happening_.

“Who the fuck sent you?” Eggsy asks. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Harry levels him with a look before sighing gently.

“One moment, Mr Unwin,” he says, before he reaches into his pocket and produces a mobile phone. He presses a few buttons and then holds it up to his ear.

“Merlin?” he says after a moment’s pause, and it’s clear there’s someone on the other line. “Checking in for a Mr Unwin at Rowley Way. Could you confirm the booking?” Harry’s gaze never leaves Eggsy’s face as he listens to whatever the other person is saying, but Eggsy can hear the muted tone of another man’s voice. “Thank you, Merlin. I’ll be in contact soon.”

Harry hangs up the phone and slips it back into his pocket, while Eggsy folds his arms and tries to look unaffected by the thought of a man as handsome as Harry being his hooker for the night.

“Does the name Jamal ring any bells for you?” Harry asks and Eggsy knows his face must show recognition because Harry smiles gently.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Eggsy snaps. “How the fuck did he find you? How could he _afford_ you?”

“I’m flattered,” Harry says with just a hint of sarcasm. “I believe he gets a discount rate for having immediate family in the business.”

Jamal’s older brother’s new digs now suddenly make sense.

“What the fuck,” Eggsy says, for a lack of anything more coherent to say.

“Quite,” Harry tells him. “Now, would you like to show me the bedroom, or would you prefer it here?”

Eggsy holds both hands up quickly, warding Harry off as he says, “Whoa! No, I didn’t sign up for this, guv. Whatever it is you think we’re going to do, we’re not. We’re definitely not having sex. Just go back home.”

“I cannot accept payment without an exchange of services,” Harry tells him and Eggsy waves his hands as though it should be obvious.

“Then give Jamal a refund!”

“I’m afraid, as it turns out with all perishable items, Mr Unwin, I am non-refundable,” Harry deadpans and Eggsy thinks he would laugh if it were any other situation.

“Then what do you want?” he asks incredulously and Harry pauses.

“I don’t just offer sex, Mr Unwin,” Harry says, and he really needs to stop calling Eggsy that because the only people who do are the police and he’s just not into that. “I am a companion.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Eggsy asks. “You have a side job as a dog? I hear they’re good companions, too.”

Harry levels him with a look that settles low in Eggsy’s stomach at the thought of being able to wind him up so easily.

“As a companion,” Harry begins, straightening to his full height as though daring Eggsy to interrupt, “I can also cook and offer one company where they might not have it before—not necessarily that of a sexual kind.”

Eggsy gets stuck somewhere around the cooking part.

“You’ll cook for me?” he asks and Harry glances over his shoulder at the kitchen, his expression unreadable.

“There must already be ingredients for me to work with,” he says, which makes Eggsy bristle. “There isn’t much I can do with a dozen cans of Red Bull.”

“I’ve got an idea for you,” Eggsy starts, ready to tell Harry exactly where he can shove said cans of Red Bull, before Harry interrupts.

“Ah, rosemary,” Harry says, his gaze locked onto the small tub of herbs sitting in the windowsill that Eggsy’s mum has been lovingly taking care of for god knows how long now. “Perhaps all hope is not lost yet.”

He ignores Eggsy’s noise of complaint and Eggsy can’t seem to do more than watch Harry as he moves towards the fridge and peers inside. Harry makes a thoughtful noise and shuffles a few things around, before standing back and dropping a handful of ingredients onto the space beside the sink.

He knows the packet of chicken Harry’s in the middle of opening is what his mum plans to make for a Sunday roast the following evening, but he just can’t bring himself to point that out. He’s far more intrigued by what Harry plans to do with it.

“Do you have pasta?” Harry asks and Eggsy finds himself wordlessly moving towards the cupboards to find what he needs.

“We’ve only got bowties,” Eggsy explains, passing the packet over to Harry who takes it with a nod of thanks. “That’s the only pasta my little sister will eat right now. It’s a phase.”

“My nephew would only eat fusilli when he was six,” Harry tells him in return, and Eggsy doesn’t know what fusilli is, but it could be another type of pasta.

He doesn’t bother asking, just flops into a chair at the kitchen table and watches Harry deftly move around as though he owns the place, switching the oven on and putting a pan of water on the hob to boil. After the second time of Harry reaching into a random drawer and finding exactly what he needs, Eggsy speaks up.

“How the fuck do you know where everything is?”

Harry pauses to glance at him, midway through cutting grooves into the chicken breasts.

“As unique as your kitchen is, Mr Unwin, I can confidently tell you that there are many laid out in a similar fashion.”

“You’ve _companioned_ in enough kitchens to know that, huh?” Eggsy asks and Harry shrugs and turns his gaze back to the food.

“When you’ve been in the business as long as I have, certain things become obvious.” He then pauses and looks at Eggsy, adding—clearly to spite him, “Mr Unwin, where might one find your biggest pan?” 

His face doesn’t give anything away, but Eggsy is sure Harry is laughing inside. Nevertheless, Eggsy pushes himself up and heads to the cupboard by the front door, pulling out exactly what Harry asked for. However, when he goes to hand it over, he keeps ahold of the handle, letting Harry tug once before realising that Eggsy isn’t going to hand it over.

“Eggsy,” Eggsy corrects. “I don’t like the sound of Mr Unwin.”

“Of course, Eggsy,” Harry replies as Eggsy finally lets go of the pan and allows Harry to take it. “Formality isn’t for everyone, though most consider being dressed one of the basics for it.”

Eggsy glances down, only just reminded again of his shirtlessness and he frowns at Harry, but reaches for one of his hoodies hanging over a chair at the table. He slips it on and flattens his hair back down after it’s ruffled.

“I’d be wearing less if I let you fuck me,” Eggsy points out and Harry stops long enough to drag his gaze down Eggsy’s body in a way that _does things_ to him.

Harry may be old enough to be his father, but he’s still got it going for him. Some might even call him a _daddy_.

“It wasn’t a complaint,” Harry tells him. “In fact, I’m rather disappointed to see the view go.”

Eggsy keeps the hoodie on and takes a seat at the table once more.

“What are you making anyway?” Eggsy asks, changing the topic and Harry lets him.

“Rosemary chicken,” Harry tells him, dribbling olive oil across the chicken and putting it all in the oven. “With a side of pasta.”

Eggsy had been thinking about having spaghetti on toast for dinner, so he’ll definitely accept Harry’s substitute.

He raises his eyebrows, saying, “Fancy.” Harry gives him a pointed look, probably meaning that his standards are too low, so Eggsy adds, “Less judging, more cooking.”

Harry offers him a smirk as though he likes Eggsy’s fire and begins moving around, shoving pasta into the now-boiling water on the stove.

“Do you have any red wine?” Harry asks and Eggsy snorts.

“We’ve got vodka and a few cans of bitter, but you can’t touch that stuff on pain of death from my stepdad.”

Harry sighs wistfully and says, “No matter; I’ll make do without.”

He pulls a can of tomatoes from the cupboard and mixes it with God knows what—not that Eggsy cares. He’s mostly just excited about being fed soon. It’s quiet for a long minute while Harry stirs things and checks on his chicken. Eggsy watches him curiously, following him with a heavy gaze.

“What is it?” Harry asks, as though feeling Eggsy’s stare. He glances over his shoulder as he’s stirring something and levels Eggsy with a cool stare. “Something the matter?”

“How did you get into this?” Eggsy asks without preamble, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Cooking?” Harry asks smoothly. “I started when I went to university.”

“Not cooking,” Eggsy says with an unimpressed look. “Fucking people for money.”

“Well,” Harry says gently. “That started around the same time as the cooking.”

“And someone like _you_ thought it was a good idea?”

“I enjoy sex and I’m good at it—” Eggsy interrupts with a loud snort, but Harry continues anyway. “Why not make money doing something you love?”

“Because it means being a rent boy, which, by the way, is illegal.”

“And you’ve never done anything illegal, have you Eggsy?”

Eggsy doesn’t rise to the bait; instead, he says, “Plus, you gotta sleep with any old person. Who knows who you’ll end up with.”

“Every client is carefully vetted by the agency,” Harry tells him. “It’s safer that way.”

Eggsy raises his eyebrows and asks, “Even me?”

“Even you,” Harry confirms.

“So you know all about me now, huh?”

“I know enough,” Harry tells him, which piques Eggsy’s interest.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Harry stops messing with the food long enough to turn towards Eggsy, carefully folding his arms across his chest.

“You’re Gary Unwin,” he begins, which alone is enough to surprise Eggsy. “You’re twenty-four and currently unemployed. You had a brief stint in the Royal Marines before you came home to be with your mother and younger sister. Your father passed away just before Christmas when you were a young boy and your stepfather is both mentally and physically abusive. Would you like me to continue?”

“No,” Eggsy grunts, staring at Harry, who just casually observes him in return. “You’re a dickhead, you know that?”

“I’ve been told many times,” Harry tells him. “I guess I’ve just never taken it to heart.”

“Yeah, well, now you can,” Eggsy says, gaze falling to the table as he fidgets with a torn envelope.

“I also happen to know,” Harry begins and Eggsy braces himself for something equally as awful. “You have a lot of potential and you’ll go far in whatever you choose to do.”

“Yeah, because I’ve done that so many times before already.”

“Eggsy,” Harry says softly. “You’ve been put in situations no boy your age should have to deal with. You’re doing the best with the hand you’ve been dealt and things will be just fine in the future.”

“Who are you to promise that?” Eggsy asks, shooting him a glare. “A hooker offering life advice; that’s rich.”

“Companion,” Harry corrects, which is the only thing he says before turning back to the stove and stirring the pasta with steady movements.

It falls silent between them and Eggsy takes a moment to stare at Harry again, tracing the lines of his body with his gaze and trying to imagine what Harry looks like under his clothes. Surely he’d have to be toned to be a prostitute. No one would want to pay for him to fuck them if he wasn’t, right? Or does he let people fuck him?

Eggsy squints, trying to imagine Harry under someone, what he would look like writhing and begging to be fucked. He feels his face heat because, as it turns out, it’s actually a good thought, one that he wouldn’t mind following up on later in the privacy of his own room. But he doesn’t think it’ll sate his curiosity. He needs to know.

“Do you fuck?” Eggsy asks bluntly. “Or do you get fucked?”

Harry, impressively, doesn’t even seem to flinch at the question. He quickly checks the chicken in the oven, glances at his own watch, and then shuts the door for it to continue cooking.

“It depends,” Harry tells him. “On what the client wants.”

“What if they want both?” Eggsy asks and Harry finally stops long enough to look at him, his stare calculating.

“Then that is what they get,” Harry tells him.

“Do you charge extra, or—?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks before he answers. “Is that for personal reference?”

“No,” Eggsy quickly replies. “Just wondering.”

“No,” Harry says after a moment. “I don’t charge extra. Any other questions, Eggsy?”

“No,” Eggsy responds quietly. “I’m done.”

Harry turns back to the cooking and Eggsy drops his head to the tabletop, wishing he could bang his forehead against it without being heard.

“There’s nothing wrong with curiosity,” Harry tells him. “Quite natural.”

“When is dinner going to be done?” Eggsy asks to change the subject and Harry looks at his watch again.

“Fifteen minutes,” he says smoothly. “Just enough time to get ready.”

He leaves the stove to putter around the kitchen instead, gathering plates and cutlery, and setting them out neatly once Eggsy moves his head out of the way.

“Don’t remember the last time I sat at the table to eat,” Eggsy says with a snort and Harry shoots him an inquisitive glance.

“Where do you normally eat?”

“Either in front of the TV or in my room.”

“And your mother allows that?”

Eggsy narrows his eyes at Harry and says, “I don’t appreciate that tone, thanks.”

Harry does actually look apologetic. “I’m sorry, Eggsy. You’re right; that was unnecessary.”

Eggsy sighs, stares at Harry for a moment, and then tells him, “She does her best, but my stepdad gets the last word usually, and I’d rather not be there for it. We make do.”

“Of course,” Harry replies. “Well, this will be something different for you.”

Eggsy grunts and goes back to staring at the table, one hand propping up his head. He listens to Harry moving around and in some ways it’s comforting. It reminds him of the old days, when he was young and his mum and dad used to cook a roast together every Sunday.

“Smells good,” Eggsy tells him when Harry opens the oven and removes the chicken—and it’s not a lie. Whatever Harry’s done, he suspects it’s going to be amazing.

“Thank you, Eggsy,” Harry says, turning off the hob and the oven.

He drains the pasta—impressively only using a wooden spoon—and scoops out a serving onto Eggsy’s plate and then his own.

“You’re eating too?” Eggsy asks and Harry pauses, staring down at him.

“Would you prefer to save this as leftovers?” Harry asks. “I don’t need to eat if you don’t want me to. It is _your_ food after all.”

“No,” Eggsy says quickly. “Have some. I just thought you’d have already eaten.”

“Not yet,” Harry tells him. “Usually after I meet with a client.”

Eggsy nods and lets Harry carry on, dishing out a chicken breast that has perfectly crispy skin with the scent of rosemary clinging to it. He sets the pans in the sink and then fetches them a glass of water each.

“Thanks,” Eggsy says, accepting it and taking a sip immediately.

Harry takes the seat opposite and glances at him.

“Do you usually bless the food?” he asks and Eggsy shakes his head.

“Well then,” Harry says. “After you.”

Tentatively, Eggsy cuts into his chicken and takes a bite. The flavour hits immediately and Harry must have sold his soul to be such a good cook, because it’s possibly the best he’s ever had. He stares at Harry as he swallows, and Harry is watching him expectantly, a faint smile on his face that is barely there at all.

“Good?” he asks and Eggsy raises his eyebrows.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” he says. “What the fuck?”

Harry looks indulgent and then tucks into his own food, glancing at Eggsy every now and then to gauge his reactions. Eggsy practically inhales everything and goes back for more pasta before Harry is even close to finishing.

“This is sick, Harry; you could make a fortune cooking for people.”

“I don’t enjoy cooking half as much as the rest of it,” Harry tells him, a smirk on his face and Eggsy shakes his head in disbelief.

“If you fuck half as good as you cook, I can see why people hire you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t attest to that,” Harry says. “But you’re always welcome to find out yourself.”

The offer is getting more and more inviting the more time he spends with Harry, but he doesn’t answer, just offers him a crooked smile and goes back to his food.

“You’ve ruined me,” Eggsy says when his plate is empty again and Harry has finished his own helping. “No way am I ever going to eat food that good again.”

“I can write down the recipe,” Harry offers, but Eggsy shakes his head.

“Never the same, is it? Not if you have to do it yourself.”

“Coincidentally,” Harry says. “That’s the reason I still have a job pleasuring people.”

Eggsy chokes on his drink halfway through a sip and pulls the glass away, coughing into his fist.

“What the fuck?” Eggsy asks after he’s caught his breath. “I thought you were meant to be all prim and proper.”

“I never said that,” Harry tells him cooly. “You made that assumption by yourself.”

Eggsy takes another sip of water to soothe his throat and runs his gaze obviously over Harry. “Guess you’re just a filthy old man.”

“It’s a reputation I take very seriously,” Harry replies and Eggsy snorts, pushing away from the table and grabbing their plates.

“Well, I guess it’s only fair if you cook that I clean.”

He flicks the tap on and fills the washing-up bowl with hot water and an unnecessary amount of bubbles, just the way he always does.

“You can save that for later,” Harry tells him and Eggsy glances over his shoulder to find Harry turned in his chair to watch him.

“Why?” Eggsy asks. “Is there a time limit for how long you’re here?”

Harry smiles and shakes his head.

“No, Eggsy. You can keep me as long as you want.”

There’s something about Harry’s words that sits heavily in Eggsy’s stomach, like maybe he isn’t lying. He offers a tentative smile to Harry before turning back to the sink, switching off the tap, and beginning to wash everything while listening to the noise of Harry quietly shifting around behind him.

He drops a plate straight back into the water, completely startled, when a hand touches his waist. When he steps back to avoid it, he bumps right into Harry, who’s now standing behind him, alarmingly closer than before.

“Wha—?” he begins, turning and putting his back against the counter, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

Harry looms over him, not intimidating—Eggsy knows _intimidating_ and Harry is too soft for that—but insistent. The hand that isn’t on Eggsy’s waist comes up to Eggsy’s face, cupping it warmly, Harry’s thumb rubbing softly over his cheekbone.

“It’s all right to say yes to this, Eggsy,” Harry tells him gently. “I could make it good for you. There’s so much I could show you.”

Eggsy swallows thickly, his chest refusing to let him breathe easily, and he stares at Harry, unable to speak.

“Say no, Eggsy, or shake your head and I’ll stop immediately and leave. I won’t push you into anything, but don’t feel as though you’re not allowed this over preconceived notions of what I am and what I do. I can give you anything you want, Eggsy.”

And the thing that really gets Eggsy, is that he believes Harry; he believes Harry can give him _exactly_ what he wants. But Harry is right—Eggsy is hung up over who, _what_ , Harry is. Part of him worries that the best shag he’ll ever have will be with a prostitute and he’ll never experience it again.

But then, as Harry said, all he’d need to do is make any indication that he didn’t want it and Harry would leave. He could just shake his head or nudge Harry away. That’s it.

Except—he can’t find it in himself to do it. Just the simplest motion and he can’t do it.

Harry is looking at him as though he actually wants Eggsy, and his lips look so soft and inviting, and he could kiss him if he wanted to. He could probably do even more to Harry’s mouth if he wanted to; maybe he could get Harry to suck him off or get Harry to eat him out. No one’s ever done that to him before.

Harry seems to know that Eggsy is contemplating it and he moves his hand to Eggsy’s jaw, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of his bottom lip.

“Shake your head, Eggsy,” Harry repeats. “Let me know if you don’t want this.”

Eggsy still can’t do that. Instead, he raises a hand, one that’s wet and covered in soap suds, and sets it against Harry’s chest. 

Harry’s expression morphs as though he almost expects Eggsy to push him away, but Eggsy just holds his palm against the warmth of Harry’s body and feels the rise and fall of it as he breathes. As he’d originally thought, the chest against his hand is toned and he has the sudden urge to ruffle Harry’s perfect demeanour, to muss up his clothes and tug until buttons start popping off.

Instead, he curls Harry’s tie around his fist and pulls him closer, enjoying the way Harry’s face changes once more into something sultry and tinged with longing.

“Perhaps saying no isn’t want you want, hmm?” Harry asks, stepping close enough for Eggsy to feel his heat down the entire length of his body.

Eggsy makes a thoughtful noise and says, “Maybe.”

“Perhaps you want me to take you to bed,” Harry says and Eggsy tilts his head.

“Maybe,” Eggsy repeats and the corner of Harry’s mouth curls up in amusement.

“Perhaps first I should kiss you,” he says and Eggsy swallows again, trying to find the last of his courage to answer.

Eggsy nods and is surprised by how breathy he sounds when he says, “ _Yeah_.”

Harry doesn’t move though and Eggsy belatedly realises he’s waiting for Eggsy to make the first move, just to be sure. Slowly, just to be sure _Harry_ is sure, too, Eggsy leans up and in, meeting Harry’s lips in a soft, chaste kiss. He pulls back after to gauge Harry’s expression, but his face is slack and his eyes are soft as though he enjoyed the brief touch. Eggsy can’t help but go in for another kiss, this one firmer and more confident.

Harry grips his waist tighter, keeps him closely pressed to his front as he carefully deepens the kiss. Eggsy automatically moves to loop his arms around Harry’s neck and gives it back as good as he knows how. Harry makes a soft sound and Eggsy opens his mouth against Harry’s own, letting Harry lick his way inside.

Harry is gentler than Eggsy expects, but he’s just as skilled with his tongue as he’d thought he’d be. He kisses like he means it, but also like he wants to make it good for Eggsy, his grip unflinchingly firm. Eggsy can’t help but rut forwards because no one kisses like that without meaning something more.

Harry’s hand slips from his waist to Eggsy’s arse, tugging him flush against his body and he’s not hard—at least not that Eggsy can feel—but Eggsy is getting there with just the thought of what might come. Speaking of, Eggsy figures that’s something they should discuss, and with as much strength as he can muster, he brings himself to pull away from Harry’s mouth. Harry drops a handful of quicker, softer kisses to his lips before he can speak and Eggsy allows him.

“What are we doing?” Eggsy asks, fairly distracted by Harry’s hand groping him.

“What would you like?” Harry replies, mouthing at Eggsy’s jaw, like he just can’t help himself.

Eggsy curls his fingers into Harry’s hair and says, “ _Everything_.”

Harry laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, vibrating against Eggsy’s own.

“Everything?” Harry asks. “I may never leave.”

“Okay with me,” Eggsy tells him, getting his mouth back on Harry’s own, sharing wet, desperate kisses with him.

Harry presses Eggsy back against the sink and gets a thigh between both of Eggsy’s own, giving him something to rub himself on. It’s a dangerous pleasure, because Eggsy thinks he could get off that way; he could come in his trousers like he has no semblance of control, like he’s fifteen again.

Eggsy breaks away from the kiss, panting into Harry’s ear as Harry sucks what he suspects will be one hell of a mark onto his throat. He presses a kiss to it after and nips at Eggsy’s collarbone.

“Show me where your room is, Eggsy,” Harry tells him and Eggsy really doesn’t need to be told twice.

He kisses Harry one last time and then grabs his wrist, tugging him out of the kitchen and through to the living room. They get distracted briefly in the hallway when Harry pins Eggsy to the wall—tragically beside a row of Eggsy’s embarrassingly old school photos—but eventually Eggsy drags Harry into his room by the front of his jacket, which he then quickly shoves off of him, dropping it to the floor without caring—though Harry doesn’t complain in the slightest.

“Not sure we’ll both fit in the bed,” Eggsy tells him, sparing a glance at it, while Harry tugs Eggsy’s hoodie sharply up over his head.

“We’ll make do,” Harry promises, dipping low enough to drag his tongue across one of Eggsy’s nipples. Eggsy clutches at the back of his head and lets him move to the other without complaint, not even when Harry catches it with his teeth, making Eggsy’s back arch.

No one has paid so much attention to his body before. It’s usually just a quick handjob in a bathroom somewhere, or a BJ in a quiet alley. But Harry is treating it as though it’s something to be savoured, something to appreciate—and maybe that’s why Harry is still in business. He knows exactly how to treat his clients.

Except Eggsy doesn’t like to think of himself as just another client. He likes to imagine he met Harry somewhere, like a fancy cocktail bar, and he’s brought Harry home for the night. He likes to think that Harry wants him for who he is, not whether he’s been paid to do it or not.

He uses the hand on the back of Harry’s head to pull him back up to his mouth, needing something to distract him away from his thoughts because no good can come of it. He shifts his hands to Harry’s shirt, unbuttoning it quickly, though the small buttons seem to want to do anything but unfasten. He thinks briefly about forcing them open, but eventually, Harry’s come up to cover his own, helping to undress him.

The shirt joins the rest of their clothing on the floor and Eggsy slides his palms along Harry’s stomach beneath his undershirt. When he pushes that over Harry’s head, he pauses and blinks appreciatively at him because the man has abs.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Eggsy murmurs, sliding his hands across the expanse of skin.

“If that’s what you want,” Harry tells him, tugging Eggsy closer with a hand on the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

They’re not doing much to hide Eggsy’s excitement, not that he wants to, and Harry takes a moment to rub him through them, getting him to arch into his touch.

“Want it all,” Eggsy moans and Harry nods as though that’s exactly what he plans on giving him. “Want you naked.”

Harry kisses the corner of his mouth and says, “I can do that.”

He takes his hands off Eggsy just long enough to unbuckle his belt, unfasten his trousers, and drop everything in a puddle at his feet. He shoves his pants down as well and while he tugs everything from around his ankles, he unlaces his shoes and kicks them off before slipping off his socks.

Eggsy is more than a little appreciative of the view; Harry standing there, chest moving with every heavy breath, his cock now hard and straining upwards. He can’t help but reach out and curl a hand around it, stroking and watching Harry’s foreskin slip and slide with the wetness at the tip of his cock. Eggsy wants to get his mouth on him, thinking that Harry might like the sight of his lips stretched around the fat head of his dick.

Eggsy thinks about how it might feel inside him, loosening him up, fucking him open wide until he’s half-mad with it. But he can’t help but also wonder how tight Harry might be if Eggsy got his fingers inside him.

Eggsy shoves his pyjamas down his hips, liking the way Harry’s eyebrows raise at the sight of Eggsy not wearing any underwear.

“Not a word,” Eggsy tells him. “I had no plans to see anyone today.”

“Wasn’t going to say a thing,” Harry says. “This makes it easier.”

He smirks at Eggsy before moving closer, kissing him at the same time that he curls his fingers around Eggsy’s cock and gives him a few steady strokes. Eggsy groans and leans his weight into him, sliding his hands around Harry’s back and letting them drop down to his arse, his fingers nudging along Harry’s crack.

He breaks away from Harry’s mouth, trailing kisses along Harry’s neck before pressing his face into the curve of Harry’s shoulder.

“Want to finger you,” Eggsy tells him, feeling his cheeks flush and keeping his head bowed, unable to meet Harry’s gaze.

“Come here then,” Harry tells him, pulling him towards the bed.

Harry lies down first, dragging Eggsy on top of him, and letting Eggsy crawl into the space between his legs. Eggsy ruts down against him, unable to help himself, and Harry makes an encouraging noise.

“I have lubricant if you need it,” Harry tells him, but Eggsy shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “Already got some.”

It’s part of his hidden stash as it’s not exactly something he’d want Dean to find in his room. If he found out Eggsy was more poof than straight, that would be the end for Eggsy. He keeps the bottle under a fake bottom of his drawer, along with a handful of condoms and a vibrator he’d been given as a gag gift once, but had kept for not-so-gag reasons.

He leans over to grab the lube and a few condoms and goes about slicking up his fingers in record time.

“How’d you like it?” he asks Harry, who’s watching him silently.

Without a word, Harry bends one leg, setting his foot flat on the mattress and giving Eggsy access to everything he could possibly want. He takes a hold of Eggsy’s hand and gently leads it down between his legs, letting Eggsy figure out the rest for himself.

“Just like this,” he tells Eggsy, who can’t help but give him what he wants.

The first finger slips in easily and Harry shudders against him, rolling his body into the feeling.

“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” Eggsy says and Harry nods, but he suspects Harry won’t say a word anyway.

He keeps his finger still for a moment, letting him adjust to it while he takes the time to kiss Harry slowly, muffling the quiet noises between their mouths. Harry is hot and tight around him and Eggsy finds himself trailing kisses down to Harry’s chin, down his throat, and to his chest. Harry’s nipples don’t seem to be as sensitive as Eggsy’s own, even when Eggsy laves at them with his tongue, though they do peak nicely against it.

Harry makes soft noises as though he likes it regardless and Eggsy glances up at him from beneath his lashes, finding Harry already watching him. Eggsy leans up on one elbow and smiles slowly at him, watching the flush spread across Harry’s face as he finally begins thrusting his finger into him.

“How’s that?” he asks and Harry brings a hand up to brush Eggsy’s hair away from his face.

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” Harry tells him and Eggsy snorts, dropping a kiss to Harry’s chest.

“Yeah, but I want to be.”

He’s careful as he slips another finger into Harry, but Harry seems to expect it, his eyes falling shut and head tipping back as his body accepts it without hesitation.

“That’s it, Eggsy,” Harry tells him. “Just like that.”

Without pausing from moving his fingers inside Harry, Eggsy shuffles down the bed, kissing a line down Harry’s stomach, following his happy trail that leads to the neatly trimmed hair around Harry’s cock. Harry smells like soap and a faint musk when Eggsy presses his mouth beside Harry’s dick, feeling it twitch against his cheek.

“Want me to blow you?” Eggsy asks, glancing up at Harry again and loving the way his gaze goes distant as though he’s imagining exactly that.

But instead of nodding or pleading with Eggsy to hurry up and just do it, Harry reaches over to the stash of condoms beside them and carefully peels one open.

“Safety first,” Harry tells him as he reaches down to slide it onto himself and Eggsy appreciates the gesture.

In the position he’s in, Eggsy doesn’t have a hand free to grip Harry’s cock and guide it into his mouth, which means he has to nuzzle at it and get it in that way instead. Harry lets out a series of gasping noises and Eggsy can feel his hips shifting—not enough to shove up and choke Eggsy, but enough for him to notice the movement.

Harry is warm and thick against his tongue, and Eggsy wonders briefly what Harry might taste like without the latex in the way. But he isn’t going to complain about it as it is, because Harry feels just as good—if not better—than he’d originally thought. His lips stretch wide to accommodate him and he can feel Harry’s pulse thrumming beneath the thin skin.

If Eggsy were in Harry’s position—with fingers in his arse and a mouth on his cock—he’d be long gone; Harry is reserved, though, and doesn’t even seem to blink as he watches Eggsy swallow around him. Eggsy feels braver with Harry’s gaze on him and he takes more of Harry into his mouth, bobbing his head enthusiastically.

Eggsy reckons by now, if it weren’t for the condom, Harry would be leaking all across his tongue. Instead, he just gets the tang of latex and he can’t help but think about if Harry is going to smell like rosemary after from Eggsy’s mouth. He lets out a quiet huff of amusement and Harry slides his hand around to cup Eggsy’s jaw.

“Something funny?” Harry asks and Eggsy pulls up, giving the tip of Harry’s cock an extra suckle before pulling off with an obnoxious _pop_.

He grins at the face Harry pulls and crooks his fingers just enough to make it up to him.

“Was just thinking the chicken tasted better.”

Harry stares down at him for a long moment before sighing, even as the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Get up here, Eggsy,” Harry orders, curling a hand around Eggsy’s upper arm and using a surprising amount of strength to pull him away from his cock.

Eggsy laughs at Harry’s urgency, but eventually gets his knees underneath himself and crawls his way back up Harry’s body before sitting on Harry’s hips and meeting his mouth when he leans up for a kiss. He’s distracted enough by it that he barely notices Harry’s hand curling around his wrist and pulling, letting Eggsy’s fingers slip out. When he realises, Eggsy pushes a noise of complaint into Harry’s mouth and then pulls back enough to speak.

“Didn’t hardly get to do anything,” he says staring down at Harry, who slides a hand along Eggsy’s side.

“You did plenty,” Harry promises. “Any more and this would be over.”

Eggsy’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Aren’t old guvs like you meant to have more stamina?”

Harry shifts beneath him, both hands leaving his body, and for a second Eggsy thinks he’s royally screwed it. But then Harry laughs—more a snort than anything—and drops his head onto Eggsy’s pillows.

“They do,” Harry tells him. “But sometimes a pretty, young thing comes along and ruins all of their carefully laid plans.”

“Oh yeah?” Eggsy asks, his stomach flipping at the thought that _he’s_ attractive to someone like _Harry_. “Glad there aren’t any of those around. Otherwise this would be real embarrassing, right?”

Harry levels him with a look before he replies.

“There happens to be one sitting in my lap.”

Eggsy draws back and pretends to glance around, but Harry reaches up and catches his chin in one large palm and turns his face back to him.

“Being facetious doesn’t suit you,” Harry tells him, which is an absolute fucking lie.

“What would you rather me be then?” he asks and Harry tips his head and pretends to examine him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Hmm,” Harry murmurs. “I think you should be exactly as you are.”

Eggsy tries his best to ignore the flush that sprawls across his face, and he grins down at Harry.

“So, I can go back to being facetious?”

“Less self-deprecating perhaps,” Harry corrects and Eggsy tilts his head; that’s a new one. Eventually, Harry explains, “Realise your own self-worth.”

“I have that?” Eggsy asks with a laugh, which seems to exasperate Harry.

“You may be young, but you have a lot ahead of you.”

It’s a dangerous road to go down, so Eggsy smirks and uses it to change the subject.

“And what about an old men like you? What have they got?”

“Thankfully,” Harry says, tilting his head slightly and seeming to pick up on Eggsy’s discomfort. “We can always be counted on to be filthy.”

“Is that right?” Eggsy asks. “You’re a dirty old man?”

“Very much so,” Harry tells him and Eggsy is about to retort again when something cool and wet brushes his bum, and before he knows it, Harry is pressing the tip of a slicked-up finger against his hole.

Eggsy startles, shifting forward and almost headbutting Harry in the face, and Harry clutches at his hip with his free hand and insistently rubs his fingertip against Eggsy’s entrance.

“When the fuck did you get the lube?” Eggsy asks, but he had been pretty distracted.

“I told you, Eggsy,” Harry tells him with what could definitely pass as a smile on his face. “A dirty old man.”

“Fucking hell,” Eggsy mumbles under his breath and Harry’s smile only gets broader.

“We didn’t really discuss it,” Harry says. “I think we were sidetracked. But how would you like this to go?”

“Well, since you’re ready for it,” Eggsy replies, shifting his hips and rubbing back against Harry’s finger. “I reckon you should fuck me.”

“Positive?” Harry asks and Eggsy nods, leaning down to get closer to Harry and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“I think you should show me exactly how I should be fucked, don’t you?”

Harry lets out a sound—bordering on pained—before he slips his finger into Eggsy without a word. Eggsy arches against the feeling as Harry’s fingers are fatter than his own and he can only imagine how Harry’s cock is going to stretch him out. Harry goes slowly though, but he’s insistent, which is apparently exactly what Eggsy’s body is into because it relaxes for Harry like Harry is the only thing that matters.

He sighs and shuts his eyes at the feeling of Harry’s knuckle against his rim, savouring it and knowing it’ll be wanking material until the end of time.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Eggsy groans. “Fuck me with it.”

Harry, surprisingly, does just that, moving his hand and giving Eggsy something to clench around. On top of that, Harry knows the human body as well as a fucking proctologist, because he crooks his finger just enough to rub over Eggsy’s prostate, making his cock twitch with the added pleasure. He gets his hand around himself, stroking slowly, just enough to keep him hard when Harry starts nudging another finger into him.

It’s a tight fit, but Eggsy angles himself just right, knowing he can take—and has taken—a lot more before. Harry’s fingers are practically dripping with lube anyway and it’s a smooth, satiny feeling as they press inside.

“God, your fingers,” Eggsy moans, arching his back and letting Harry press them further inside. “Wanna keep them.”

Harry laughs quietly and says, “I’m afraid I need them.”

“Yeah, well so do I right now.”

Eggsy wishes he could watch, but the mirror in the corner of his room isn’t at the right angle, and he just has to imagine how obscene it must look with him stretching around Harry’s knuckles.

“C’mon, Harry,” he teases. “Is that all you’ve got? Thought you were meant to be a professional at this.”

Harry actually stops at that and stares at Eggsy with an unreasonable expression. Eggsy wonders belatedly if he’s overstepped the boundaries, but then Harry gets a look on his face like he’s about to ruin Eggsy’s life and make him love every minute of it. As a precaution, Eggsy grips Harry’s forearm and holds on tightly to keep himself steady.

“You have good instincts, Eggsy,” Harry tells him. “Because you need to hang on for dear life.”

He has no idea what Harry plans to do, but shoving a third finger into him isn’t it. He’s barely even adjusted to the size of two, but Harry slams them in, hitting his prostate dead on. Eggsy lets out a loud breath, feeling like he’s about to come, or maybe just wee himself.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears. “Fucking hell, Harry.”

Harry continues pumping his fingers rapidly into Eggsy, and Eggsy knows his wrist must be at one hell of an awkward angle, but he still keeps up the spine-tinglingly good rhythm, slowly driving Eggsy mad.

“You wanted professional,” Harry explains as though that’s all there is to it. “I could make you come in less than thirty seconds like this.”

But Eggsy digs his blunt fingernails into Harry’s skin and whines.

“No, no,” he begs. “Want to come on your cock.”

As though they’re the magic words, Harry’s hand immediately begins to slow, shifting into a gentle rocking motion that still draws Eggsy closer to the edge, but does it gently, as though luring him there with a row of sweeties instead. He lets out a muffled moan and rocks into the feeling, needing Harry inside him properly.

“C’mon,” Eggsy says, drawing up on his knees and reaching back blindly for Harry’s cock. “Put it in.”

“Romance isn’t dead,” Harry mutters sarcastically and Eggsy grunts.

“Don’t need romance,” he says. “Need your dick.”

Harry’s fingers slide free with a wet noise and has Eggsy pulling a face at both that and the feeling of being so stretched open. Harry bats his hand out of the way and guides Eggsy back with his other palm on Eggsy’s hip, and Eggsy feels the fat head of Harry’s cock against his hole.

“‘S gonna feel so good,” Eggsy says and shuts his eyes as Harry begins to press in, savouring the feeling.

For a moment, he thinks Harry isn’t going to fit, but right as he reaches his breaking point, ready to tell Harry to stretch him out some more instead, the tip slips inside and Eggsy bottoms out with a soft exhale.

“Fuck,” Eggsy whispers. “Shit.”

When he opens his eyes and glances down at Harry, he finds Harry is red-faced and trembling slightly, his jaw clenched tightly like he’s gritting his teeth.

“What d’you think?” Eggsy says, belatedly realising how punched-out he sounds. “Bit tight?”

Harry grunts and says—sounding rather strangled himself—“Quite.”

Eggsy laughs, lets his head tip back, and grinds slowly down onto Harry’s cock, taking it inch by slow inch.

“God,” Eggsy says to the ceiling when he’s finally sitting on Harry’s hips, adjusting to the width. “Definitely the biggest I’ve ever had.”

Warm hands come up to clutch at his waist and Eggsy glances down to find Harry watching him, his expression dark.

“If you’re able to think of any of them right now, then I’m not doing my job right.”

Eggsy snorts and rolls his body, letting Harry feel it.

“Just lie right there, Harry, and look handsome.”

He presses his palms to Harry’s chest and uses it to leverage his body into slow movements, gently rising and falling in Harry’s lap. He takes his time, his body aching and sore already, but it’s worth it for the way Harry’s stomach flexes and his hands steadily grip and release Eggsy’s body.

“Gonna be the death of me,” Eggsy tells him and Harry shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he orders. “Not until I’m done with you.”

The threat—or maybe it’s a promise—curls through Eggsy, warming him and putting a flush on his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Is that right?”

He drops down heavily, loving the way Harry exhales roughly, and begins to pick up the pace. He’s never done this position before—hasn’t ridden anyone—and his thighs burn after a shockingly short amount of time. His hips ache too, but when he curls a hand around himself and tugs at his cock, the thought slips to the back of his mind.

He can’t get over how full he feels whenever Harry is all the way inside him, and how empty he feels when he isn’t. He thinks he could easily get addicted to the sensation, though he seriously doubts he’ll ever get the chance to find out. Harry isn’t his to keep and he’ll have to let him go sooner or later. For now, though, he memorises how Harry makes him feel and watches him pant below him.

“Fuck,” Eggsy curses. “How are you so fit?”

Harry smirks up at him, but doesn’t reply, just lifts his hips and presses into Eggsy as Eggsy drops down, and Eggsy is certain he sees stars.

“Shit, yeah,” he says. “Do that again.”

Harry does, and Eggsy knows he isn’t going to last. But it’s going to be one hell of an orgasm, he knows that much. They fall into a rhythm of Eggsy rising and falling with Harry meeting every downward movement with an upward thrust of his own. The noises are borderline disgusting, but Eggsy can’t bring himself to care. He’s so close to coming and nothing’s going to stop it.

Except that Harry does; he stops mid-thrust and Eggsy lets out a loud groan of protest, dropping a hand to Harry’s waist and pinching enough to make a point.

“No, no, no,” he argues. “Don’t you dare.”

But before he can put up a real fight, Harry sits up and rolls Eggsy off him—almost braining Eggsy on the wall in the process—until Eggsy sprawls on the bed, squinting angrily up at Harry.

“The fuck was that for?” he complains, but Harry doesn’t answer, just grabs his hips and flips Eggsy over, putting him on his stomach, limbs askew. 

Eggsy is about to say something else, but Harry pushes his thighs apart and slips back into him as though he never even pulled out to begin with. Eggsy’s body tightens at the new position, and he gasps into his pillows, feeling every inch of Harry sinking into him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans. “Jesus.”

He grapples at the sheets below him and spreads his legs further apart, letting Harry get closer, deeper. He turns his head to the side, gasping and trying not to suffocate in the pillows, and from the corner of his eye he sees Harry watching him, his mouth open as he breathes heavily, and Eggsy’s thankful that he’s not the only one affected by it.

With the first thrust of Harry’s hips, Eggsy realises he’s not going to last at all. It gives Harry the perfect angle to slam down onto his prostate and every movement rubs his erection into the mattress, giving him the friction he so desperately needs. He shuts his eyes, tilts his hips ever so slightly, and lets himself fall into the sensation, losing himself to the pleasure.

“That’s it, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, his pace brutal—though Eggsy loves every second of it. “Stay right there.”

There’s something about being told what to do that settles low in Eggsy’s stomach and tingles around his cock, and he moans softly in response, reaching one hand out to press his palm against the wall ahead of him, stopping him from sliding up the bed with every thrust.

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy mumbles. “Gonna come.”

“That’s it,” Harry repeats. “Let me feel it.”

There’s no way Eggsy could stop it even if he wanted to; it hits him like a ton of bricks to the gut and he makes a truly pathetic noise as he shudders under Harry—who doesn’t slow in the slightest—and comes into his duvet in a gross rush of wet warmth. He can feel his cock twitching against his stomach as it struggles through the pleasure and he knows he’s going to get sore and oversensitive in no time at all, but his brain—too full of endorphins—doesn’t let him care.

Harry makes a strangled noise and hisses, “ _Fuck_ , Eggsy,” as he continues thrusting into him.

Eggsy knows he must be tight as fuck now and Harry’s hands are gripping firmly at his waist as though he can barely stand the pressure. Eggsy weakly lifts his hips, propping himself up slightly with his elbows.

“C’mon, Harry,” he pants. “You gonna come inside me or what?”

Apparently, even with a condom, the thought is too much for Harry and he hunches over Eggsy’s back, mouth finding the curve of his shoulder as he bites down, and shakes against him, definitely coming. He jabs forward one last time and then holds himself still, but Eggsy can feel his thundering heartbeat, both against his back where Harry’s chest is pressed, and also where they’re joined, where Harry’s cock still throbs through the release.

It is—without a doubt—the best fuck Eggsy has ever had. He immediately flops back down onto his belly, not caring about how gross it feels to land in the wet spot, and Harry is polite enough not to follow him down. Instead, Harry draws in a handful of shaky breaths and then gently pulls out of Eggsy. It’s a terrible feeling—leaves him sore and open—but there’s a tentative finger prodding at him.

Tired and groggy, Eggsy slurs, “The fuck?”

The finger disappears and Harry rubs a hand down the back of Eggsy’s thigh.

“Just making sure you’re not torn or bleeding. I may have been a little rough.”

“You were fucking brilliant,” Eggsy tells him. “Gonna be feeling it for weeks.”

He stretches, hoping Harry enjoys the view of his body, long and lean and for his eyes only, and then sighs.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks quietly and Eggsy doesn’t even lift his head when he nods.

“Yeah, but I’m not going to move for the rest of the night.” Harry huffs softly and then the mattress dips and Harry climbs off him and wanders across the room. Eggsy does lift his head then and says, “Leaving already?”

Harry shoots him an amused look and says, “No, just cleaning up.”

He can hear Harry padding quietly towards the bathroom and then the tap turns on and it blocks the sound of Harry’s other movements. So instead of trying to listen, Eggsy lets himself doze as he normally would after a wank. But this had been so much more than that. He’s cooling quickly and his muscles are aching, but he’s sated bone-deep in a way he’s never felt.

He must fall asleep completely because he startles outright the next time a hand touches him, and he grunts, trying to roll over and failing.

“Stay where you are,” Harry tells him and something warm and wet—probably a flannel—wipes between his thighs and carefully over his entrance, cleaning up the remnants of lube. “Now you can roll over.”

Eggsy does as he’s told, blinking in the light at Harry, who’s still highly naked and is looming over him, brooking no argument. This time, Harry wipes at his stomach and cock, getting rid of the sticky, half-dried come there. It’s not as good as a shower, but it’ll do for the time being; plus, Eggsy doesn’t have to get up.

When he’s done, Harry places the flannel in Eggsy’s wash basket and then moves as though about to gather up his clothes.

“Hang on,” Eggsy tells him. “Are you allowed to stay the night, or is that extra?”

Harry pauses with a sock in one hand and his underwear in the other.

“It’s negotiable,” Harry tells him and Eggsy quirks an eyebrow at him.

“I ain’t good at negotiating, but I’ve got a comfy bed and room for another.”

There really isn’t; the bed was never made with two fully grown men in mind. He expects Harry to shoot down the offer immediately, but instead he tilts his head slightly and smiles crookedly.

“Which of us gets the wet spot?” he asks and Eggsy winces; it’s a fair point.

“There’s another duvet in the hallway,” Eggsy tells him. “First cupboard on the left.”

Harry isn’t there to do his bidding, but he does actually leave the room and rummage around in the corridor. When he comes back, he’s holding a navy duvet that’s thinner than the one he’s using now. It’s perfect, because if Harry is staying, they won’t completely overheat under it together.

It takes far too much effort for Eggsy to roll to the side and clamber to his feet, but he drags the old duvet off and dumps it in the corner of his room to wash later, before accepting the clean one from Harry. He doesn’t bother tucking in the ends, just throws it on top of his sheets and then clambers in, getting the spot that’s closest to the wall.

“What do you think?” Eggsy asks, patting the mattress beside him and Harry has an almost fond expression on his face.

“I suppose I can be tempted,” Harry tells him and Eggsy lets out a mock sigh.

“Thank god,” he says. “Because I don’t think my body is up for luring you in in other, dirtier ways.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he closes Eggsy’s door and shuts off the light, leaving them in darkness. He hears Harry shuffle back towards him and flips the edge of the duvet up, inviting him in. Eggsy stays on his side to give Harry more room, but Harry slips in easily and settles on his back, breathing quietly beside him.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Eggsy curls an arm around Harry and settles against his side, using his shoulder as a temporary pillow.

“Snug,” Harry tells him and Eggsy snorts.

“I’ll try not to kick you out accidentally,” Eggsy says and Harry’s hand brushes up and down Eggsy’s upper arm soothingly, making him want to shut his eyes and drift off immediately.

“Much appreciated,” Harry tells him and Eggsy doesn’t know if he should say anything else, but it’s too late anyway, because he’s already half asleep and fading fast.

He readjusts against Harry, tucking his nose against his skin, and breathing gently. It’s comforting to finally have someone in his bed, someone that can stay, not just a few hour fling. He snuffles quietly and then lets himself drift off.

Just before he slips under, he has the sneaking suspicion that Harry kisses his face, but he’s too far gone to mind, and he falls asleep feeling the happiest he’s been in a long time.

*

When he wakes, it’s not the same way. The bed is empty and Harry’s clothes are no longer scattered about his floor.

Eggsy grunts to himself and then reaches for his phone and checking the time. It’s still early, not even ten in the morning, and there are a handful of texts that he’ll answer once he’s figured out up from down. He yawns, stretches, and then drags himself out of bed, curling the duvet around himself in lieu of pyjamas or any sensible item of clothing.

The living room is empty, but smells faintly of cooking and Eggsy finds a plate waiting for him on the table that is ladened with scrambled eggs, bacon, and a few bits of toast practically soaked in butter. The sight makes his mouth water, but he’s distracted at the sound of the creaky bathroom door opening.

Harry’s wearing his same suit and looks just as good, if not better, than he did the day before. He’s neat and tidy and no one—other than Eggsy—would be any wiser over what he spent his night doing. The thought sends a happy tingle down Eggsy’s spine.

“Ah, Eggsy,” Harry says, adjusting his tie and then smoothing it down with one hand. “I was hoping I’d catch you. I’ve got a birthday party to get to and can’t stay any longer. I put together breakfast for you, so I hope that will make up for it.”

He crosses the room, moving straight past Eggsy, and heads for the front door. He pops the locks open easily and then pulls the door open. He pauses for just a moment, then seems to gather himself.

“Thank you for a wonderful night, Eggsy. It was a pleasure,” he says, which Eggsy is pretty sure is something _he’s_ meant to be saying to _Harry_.

But then Harry slips outside and there’s nothing more he can say and he finds himself frozen and hating himself for not being stronger. He doesn’t know what does it—maybe it’s Harry telling him the day before that he could go far in life—but he finds himself walking forward, heading for the front door and shouldering it open to peer down the hallway.

“Harry!” Eggsy calls out when he realises he’s not even three steps away.

Harry pauses for a moment and then turns and heads back towards him with a solemn expression.

“Something wrong?” he asks and Eggsy can’t help but feel that’s exactly it. Something is incredibly wrong.

And he finds the only way to make it right, is to dart a hand out, curl Harry’s tie around his fist—exactly as he’d done the night before—and tug just enough to pull Harry off balance. Harry stumbles only a step, but that’s enough to get him closer, for Eggsy to slip his other hand behind Harry’s head and pull him down to his mouth.

It’s a messy kiss with zero finesse, but Eggsy doesn’t care because for one sweet moment, he has Harry again and it’s blissful. He’s just about to let go, distractedly hoping that Harry doesn’t hate him too much for stealing a kiss when he shouldn’t have—Eggsy has no right to it, really. But in an unexpected twist of fate, Harry clutches at Eggsy’s waist with both hands, pulls him closer, and kisses back.

Eggsy’s heart thunders in his chest and he can’t think straight to even begin to wonder why Harry does it, but then Harry’s licking into his mouth and he doesn’t care in the slightest. It seems to go on an age before Harry gently breaks it.

“I wasn’t lying about the party,” Harry tells him. “I really must dash.”

Disappointment slowly creeps its way into Eggsy’s stomach, souring his happiness.

“No, I understand,” Eggsy tells him. “Just, y’know, wanted another kiss.”

Something crosses Harry’s face and his gaze drops to Eggsy’s mouth. Eggsy isn’t expecting him to lean in for yet another kiss, but this time it’s soft and fairly chaste, and Harry pulls away after only a moment.

“I could always make it up to you some more later tonight.”

Eggsy snorts and smiles wistfully.

“Don’t think I can afford your rates, mate, even if I wanted to.”

Harry lifts an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t need to pay if I’m offering to spend time with you,” Harry tells him. “I don’t do this for the money, Eggsy.”

Eggsy blinks and says, “What?”

“I do this because I enjoy it, and if I happen to enjoy the company of someone specific, I would be open to more of it.”

Eggsy heart practically skips a beat at the thought of Harry meaning what Eggsy thinks he means.

“And that someone specific?” he asks, not really sure he has to, but wanting to double check.

“He hates formal titles,” Harry tells him. “And he forgoes clothes and mostly wears lumpy duvets.”

Belatedly, Eggsy realises he really is still just wrapped up in said duvet with nothing but his birthday suit underneath. He winces and Harry laughs quietly.

“How about I stop by later?” Harry asks. “Around three o’clock?”

Eggsy can’t do anything but grin and nod his head, which seems to double Harry’s amusement. He leans in one last time to press a kiss to the corner of Eggsy’s mouth and then takes a step back.

“I wouldn’t recommend washing the sheets,” Harry tells him, talking and walking backwards at the same time. “I plan on dirtying them again very soon.”

Eggsy feels the flush curl around his cheeks and he makes a _shooing_ motion with one hand, urging Harry away before he disrupts his neighbours again. But Harry smiles and winks, and before Eggsy knows it, he’s disappearing down the steps, out of sight.

Eggsy steps back into the flat and closes the door behind him. He drops his forehead against it and can’t help but grin, feeling half mad as it stretches across his face. He has a feeling he’ll need the breakfast to give him stamina later, and he needs to make sure Jamal knows just how much he appreciated his gift.

With a soft snort, he shuffles towards the table and thinks that his best friend knows him far too well. Harry is exactly what he’s interested in and three o’clock can’t come soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [Tumblr](http://blacktofade.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eggsybacon) for more Hartwin madness!


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